


Visiting Hours

by LadySokolov



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Codependency, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post Vigilante Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vigilante John Doe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySokolov/pseuds/LadySokolov
Summary: Bruce begins to visit John regularly in Arkham. John isn't the only one who starts to desperately depend on the visits.





	Visiting Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 5 tore my heart into tiny little pieces and then the post credits scene stapled a couple of the pieces back together. I guess this fic has been one of my ways of coping with it. This was based on my personal playthrough, so Alfred has left and Tiffany is no longer in the picture, leaving Bruce pretty much all alone except for John. A lot of this fic is based on my own headcanons as to where John and Bruce might be heading in the future, but I hope that some of you still get some enjoyment and emotional healing out of it.
> 
> The wonderful omgspottedcats on tumblr has now drawn beautiful fanart for this story. Check it out [ here. ](https://omgspottedcats.tumblr.com/post/172512843858)
> 
> oi-chibi-oi has also drawn an adorable picture of the John doll. Check it out [ here.](http://oi-chibi-oi.tumblr.com/post/172850262771/inspired-by-ladysokolov-beautiful-batjokes-fic)
> 
> Meanwhile ataaaaashi has replicated scenes from the story in the Sims! [ See some super cute screenshots of that here.](https://ataaaaashi.tumblr.com/post/172521359235/visiting-hours-bruce-begins-to-visit-john)
> 
> And last but not least, this story is now available in Russian! [ Read it here.](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6804907)

VISITING HOURS

Bruce knew that after everything that had happened between himself and John Doe, most people, or at least most  _sane_  people would have stayed as far away from him as they possibly could.

He couldn’t though. No matter how much he told himself it would be the smart thing to do, Bruce just couldn’t bring himself to stay away. He cared about John far too much to do that. Besides, what did the two of them have now if they didn’t have each other?

The orderly that had shown Bruce to John’s new cell announced his presence, and Bruce found himself suddenly gripped by a fresh wave of anxiety. It hadn’t really let up since he had left the manor that morning, which was now far too still and too empty for his liking. Bruce still wasn’t entirely sure how John was going to react to Bruce’s presence; whether he would welcome and accept Bruce’s visit, or whether he would simply tell Bruce to go away and leave him the hell alone. Bruce wasn’t sure what he was going to do if it was the latter.

A latch on the door slid back, revealing the smallest of windows through which John could peek through to see the outside world.

“Bruce!” he exclaimed, his eyes immediately lighting up as soon as they came to rest on him.

Bruce adjusted his tie, still feeling a little nervous, but then John’s face shifted into a wide grin; one of pure joy, and Bruce felt as though a ton of bricks had just been lifted from his shoulders; as though the darkest corners of the hallway had suddenly gotten just that little bit brighter.

Even if he had nothing else then at least he still had this.

Bruce waited for the door to be opened. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to enter John’s room; to wrap him up in a tight hug and tell John that he was sorry, but the door stayed closed.

“Gosh buddy,” John said. “It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too John.”

The door was still closed.

Bruce cleared his throat and turned his attention to the orderly; a rather youngish looking man that had been giving Bruce strange looks since he had first shown up at the asylum. He had a feeling no-one else had shown up to visit John Doe. The orderly was probably surprised that Bruce Wayne of all people had finally shown up. If only this guy knew everything that he and John had been through together…

“Are you going to open the door?” Bruce asked.

“Sorry sir,” the orderly replied. “You’re allowed to visit, but I can’t let you be alone in that room with him without anything less than a police order. He’s too dangerous.”

Bruce almost snapped then. He knew  _exactly_  how dangerous John could be and he didn’t care. He doubted that John was going to attack him now, not after everything that had happened, and even if he did Bruce could take him. Bruce was tense enough as it was, and did  _not_ have the patience to be dealing with…

Bruce caught John’s eyes with his own again and saw the look of disappointment on John’s face. Was it any wonder that things with John had turned out as badly as they had? Alfred had been right. He ruined everything that he touched.

Bruce took a deep breath, counted to three, suppressed the rage that had started to bubble up inside of him, and turned to face the orderly with his most charming ‘Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy’ smile.

“Come on,” Bruce said. “He’s not going to hurt me, are you John?”

John chuckled, not a nervous chuckle, but another genuine one that pulled at Bruce’s heartstrings.

“Of course not,” he replied. “Bruce is my friend.”

“And I promise that if anything does happen,” Bruce continued. “Either to me or because of me then I will take full responsibility for all of it.”

“Sorry,” the orderly said without even seeming to think the matter through. “But I’ve got orders. Doctor Leland said…”

“What Doctor Leland doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Bruce said, reaching into one of his pockets. Several seconds later his hand emerged holding several hundred dollar bills.

“Just look the other way for a few minutes, all right?”

The orderly stared down at the bills that were now resting in his hand, before looking back up at Bruce. If anything he now looked far more concerned than he had before.

“What are you going to do to him?” he asked.

Bruce mentally cursed himself. Had he given the guy too much? He had always been such a bad judge of these things. What was the usual amount of money someone offered in this sort of situation?

“I just want to see my friend,” Bruce said. “That’s all. You can stay and listen if you want to make sure that everything’s above board.”

The orderly glanced between John, Bruce, and the several hundred dollars that were now resting in his hands, before shoving the money into one of his pockets and glaring up at Bruce, as though he blamed Bruce entirely for his own moral failings.

“Yeah,” the orderly said. “You bet I’ll be listening. Doesn’t matter how much you pay me, I’ll still report you if I hear anything funny. You got that?”

As the orderly unlocked the door to John’s room, Bruce readied himself, sure that John was going to launch himself at Bruce and wrap him in his arms as soon as Bruce took one step inside the room, but that never happened. John reached out to Bruce for a moment, before quickly pulling his hand back, as though he wanted to touch Bruce; maybe even to embrace him, but was forcing himself to hold back.

_Just reach out and do it yourself_ , Bruce tried to tell himself.  _It’s easy. You want to hold him. Just do it._

Bruce didn’t though. Instead he just stood there, smiling at John for a moment. John smiled back. It was almost enough, at least for the time being.

“I… I didn’t think you would actually…” John said, rubbing at his face and sounding as though he was close to tears.

“Of course I did John,” Bruce said, reaching out to place a hand on John’s shoulder. Just that one touch was electrifying all by itself, and Bruce immediately became afraid that now he was touching John he would never be able to let him go again.

“You’re my friend,” Bruce continued. “I care about you. Every time I said that I meant it.”

John nodded, wiping away the tears that had started to appear, before taking a seat on the bed, leaving Bruce’s hand feeling cold now that it was no longer touching John’s shoulder.

John gestured towards the room’s one chair, which Bruce took gratefully. The room was, at least, a little better than the one that Bruce had spent several days in when he had been locked away in Arkham. It was cleaner, with a window to the outside world, and John had been given a small bedside table in which he could keep a few of his things.

A photo of John and Batman sat on top of the bedside table, John’s arm slung around Batman’s shoulder. Bruce smiled as he remembered the night that John had taken it. The sudden appearance of John’s phone and the flash of its camera had caught Batman unawares, meaning that he was grimacing in the photo. It was far from the most flattering image of him that John could have chosen. John had given it pride of place though, keeping it displayed inside a simple wooden frame, right where he would be able to easily see it from his bed.

“You’ve got a photo of Batman,” Bruce said, nodding at the photo. “You don’t want one of me instead?”

“Why?” John asked, grinning playfully at Bruce. “You jealous that I gave him the best spot instead of you?”

Bruce shrugged, grinning as well despite himself.

John sighed, his smile immediately fading.

“I didn’t get a chance to grab any of the other photos I took,” John said, shrugging sadly as he did. “And they took my phone from me so well… I can’t take any new ones.”

Bruce frowned and pulled his own phone from his pocket.

“It’s a good thing I brought mine then, huh?”

He moved over to sit beside John on the bed.

He didn’t want the only photo that John had of the two of them to be one in which Bruce was scowling. He wanted John to be reminded, too, that even after everything that had happened, Bruce was still there; that he had no intentions of disappearing any time soon.

He wrapped an arm around John’s shoulder, just as John had done to him any time that he had taken a selfie of the two of them, and tried to ignore the shocked, open mouthed look that John sent in his direction as he did.

“Smile,” Bruce prompted, as he lined the camera up.

John didn’t just smile. He let out a short giggle, as though Bruce had actually managed to surprise him. When Bruce inspected the photo he was surprised too. He had actually managed to capture a photo of the two of them that was, at least are far as he was concerned, absolutely perfect. Neither of their smiles appeared forced. Instead they both looked genuinely happy.

“Ooh! That’s a really good one Bruce,” John said as he leaned over Bruce’s shoulder to inspect his phone. “You’re a natural at this.”

Bruce let John admire it for a couple of seconds before putting his phone away, promising himself as he did that he would bring John a printed copy of the photo next time he came to visit.

“So, how are things?” John asked once the two of them had settled back down.

Bruce wondered if he should move back to the chair, but in the end he stayed on the bed, right beside John. On the bed he could feel the warmth of John’s leg pressing against his own. It wasn’t the tight embrace he had been wanting, but it was  _something_ , and John didn’t seem to mind.

“Not great,” Bruce admitted.

John waited patiently for Bruce to continue, which Bruce was grateful for. Admitting what had happened, how messed up he had allowed his life to become, was not exactly easy.

“Alfred left me,” Bruce said.

Beside him John let out a soft gasp.

“But you said he was like a father to you!” John exclaimed.

Bruce shrugged, unsure what else John expected of him.

“Fathers don’t abandon their sons!” John screamed. “I mean, I don’t have one so I don’t know for sure, but you loved him, and he just… he just left you!? That’s not right!”

John was getting upset now; far more upset than Bruce had anticipated considering this was something that just affected Bruce and not John. John leaped up from the bed, his hands forming fists by his sides.

“It’s all right,” Bruce said. It was a lie, but he needed to calm John down.

“It was my own fault,” Bruce continued. That  _wasn’t_  a lie. It had been Bruce’s fault that Lady Arkham had kidnapped Alfred, Bruce’s fault that Alfred’s hands had started to shake, and Bruce’s fault that the job had left Alfred so mentally and emotionally scarred that in the end there was no choice left for him but to leave.

“What?” John asked.

“I asked too much of him,” Bruce said. “He needed a break.”

John calmed down then, but the look that he gave Bruce as he sat back down on the bed beside him almost made Bruce’s heart, or whatever was left of it, break all over again. The thought that somehow John, who had lost as much as Bruce had, and had ended up in an asylum on top of it all, felt sorry for  _him_ probably didn’t say anything good.

John’s hand landed on top of Bruce’s own, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“At least I still have you,” Bruce said as he moved his hand around to clutch at John’s own more tightly than he probably should have.

“Yeah,” John said, smiling up at Bruce again. “We’ve still got each other.”

* * *

Bruce visited again a few days later, this time clutching a framed photograph in his hands, which he presented to John. This time the orderly let Bruce in to see John without any questions at all. It was a different orderly this time, an older woman that Bruce didn’t recognize.

Bruce realized why she hadn’t objected to Bruce entering the room almost as soon as he caught sight of John. John’s eyes seemed to have trouble focusing on him, and it was a couple of seconds before they seemed to settle properly on Bruce’s face.

“Bruce!” John still exclaimed excitedly as soon as he recognized his friend.

“Hey John,” Bruce said, placing a hand on John’s shoulder. “I brought you something.”

He passed John the framed photo. It had come out every bit as nice as he had hoped. Bruce had purchased a silver and purple frame to hold the photo as well; one that he had been hoping John would like.

John took the framed photo from Bruce, and for a while he just sat there, staring down at it.

Bruce sat down in the chair opposite John and watched him, somewhat nervous about his reaction.

“Do you like it?” Bruce asked. “You… you don’t have to keep it if you don’t want. I just thought…”

John looked up at Bruce then, his fingers tightening around the frame of the photo as he did, as though he was afraid that Bruce or someone else might be about to take it away from him.

“I love it,” John said. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiled widely at Bruce then, looking as though he might have been close to tears once again. Bruce smiled back.

“I like it too,” Bruce said.

What he didn’t tell John was that he had set that particular photo of them as the lock screen on his phone. It was a far more sentimental gesture that he usually felt the need to make, but he liked being reminded that he still hadn’t completely lost John; that he had managed to keep at least one of his friendships alive, at least for the time being.

John returned to staring at the photo, his eyes glazing over a little as he did.

“Are you all right?” Bruce asked him. “You seem a bit out of it.”

It took John a few seconds to respond.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just… just the pills kicking in, you know? God I hate them Bruce. They make… they make my brain all fuzzy. Make it hard to think. And I don’t… I don’t feel things as much, you know?”

“But they help too, right?”

John shrugged.

“I wish I didn’t have to take them,” he said.

Bruce felt a sudden stab of panic as his mind summoned all sorts of horrible ideas of what might happen if John stopped taking his medication. After all, he had been off it when he had been out of Arkham, when he had turned into the Joker, and that had been disastrous. Bruce wondered whether he might have been able to stop John from going off the deep end if he had just paid more attention to what he said; if he had just made sure that John kept going to therapy and kept taking the correct medication.

Bruce leaned forward, reaching out through the space that lay between them to place a hand lightly on John’s knee. John’s reaction was delayed; his eyes eventually going wide as he looked up to meet Bruce’s eyes with his own.

“Promise me that you won’t stop taking your medicine,” Bruce said. “Take whatever Doctor Leland and the others say you should take. After all, that’s going to help you get better, right?”

It didn’t take all that long for the heartbreak to register on John’s face.

“But I don’t want to feel all numb like this while you’re here,” John said. “I want… I want to feel happy. I mean, I am happy, but I can’t… I can’t…”

Bruce gave John’s knee another squeeze.

“Do they always give you your medication at the same time of day?” Bruce asked.

John nodded slowly.

“Then I just showed up too early today,” Bruce said. “I’ll make sure to visit you later in the afternoon in future, when the pills aren’t affecting you as badly. Will that work?”

Another nod.

“That… that would be good Bruce.”

John eyes returned to the photo in his hands once more, before searching out Bruce’s eyes again.

“Can you stay for a while today?” he asked Bruce. “Just, you know, until the fuzz in my head has cleared a little bit?”

It was Bruce’s turn to nod and smile.

“Sure.”

* * *

It was around two weeks later that Bruce first noticed the doll. It had been sitting on John’s bed, right by his pillow when Bruce entered the room. John scrambled to try and hide it, but it was too late. Bruce had already seen it.

“Whatever it is, it’s all right,” Bruce told him. “You don’t have to hide it from me.”

After all, Bruce already knew that John had stalked him in the celebrity news columns for years before they had met, and even that hadn’t bothered Bruce as much as it probably should have. He was sure that any secret John might have been hiding from him couldn’t be worse than that.

John paused with his hand stuck beneath his bed, caught halfway through hiding what Bruce soon realized was a soft doll.

“Can I see it?” Bruce asked.

John’s hand emerged and slowly passed Bruce the doll and it was plain to see how nervous he was. Bruce took the doll carefully in both hands, mindful of how closely John was watching him and understanding that what he held now was, for whatever reason, incredibly precious to John.

The doll had been hand made, and had clearly had a lot of love put into it. It had two grey button eyes and a sewn on smile, and after a moment Bruce recognized his own hairstyle, and the suit that he usually wore when he came to visit John.

“This is me?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” John replied, still looking a little nervous. “It uh… helps me feel a little less lonely, you know?”

Bruce continued to inspect the doll in his hands, taking note of all the little details that John had managed to add; the tiny stripes on the doll’s tie; the cut of his shirt.

“I made another one,” John continued. “A while back, but I lost it when I was hiding from the Agency.”

Bruce remembered it now; one of the dolls that John had used during his ‘therapy’ session with Willy at the Stacked Deck. Bruce hadn’t recognized it as actually being himself in that moment, but now, looking at this one, there could be absolutely no mistaking the resemblance.

“You made this all by yourself, right?” Bruce said.

“Yeah,” John replied. “You don’t… you don’t hate it, do you? It’s not… it’s not too weird?”

Maybe it was a _little_ weird, but John himself was weird too, and any protests that Bruce might make that he himself was a picture of normalcy and sanity would have sounded like the lies they were. Besides, the doll’s creation showed a lot of skill and dedication. If the doll gave John comfort then who was Bruce to object or tell John that he couldn’t have it?

“I think it’s cute,” Bruce said. He tried, as he handed the doll back to John, and failed, to stop himself from imagining John holding the doll as he slept, clutching it close to his chest and maybe even imagining it was the real Bruce that he was holding.

“Really?” John asked, one of his eyebrows rising in doubt.

“Well, cuter than I am at any rate,” Bruce said. “You’re very talented John. In fact…”

Bruce cleared his throat, not entirely sure that it was a good idea to say what he was about to say.

“Do you think you could make me one as well?” he asked.

He told himself that it was important that John was kept busy; that he needed some sort of goal or mission, and that it was that fact alone that had prompted Bruce to ask John for a doll of his own, and not the uncertain and vaguely ridiculous hope that a similar doll might help to banish the almost overwhelming emptiness and loneliness in his own life.

“You want a doll of yourself?” John asked, looking more than a little confused.

“No. Not of me,” Bruce replied, wishing as he did that John hadn’t somehow found a way to make this even more awkward than it had already been. “Maybe… well… Maybe one of you?”

It had been harder to say than Bruce would have liked to admit.

John’s face immediately lit up, his eyes going wide as his mouth slowly spread into a grin. And then the smile was gone, John’s joy disappearing far more quickly than it had appeared. John scoffed and rolled his eyes, leaving Bruce to wonder exactly what it was that he had done wrong.

“Don’t joke about it like that,” John said. “I… I put a lot of work into this doll, you know? I’m actually pretty proud of it. It’s even better than the last one I made.”

Bruce sighed. God, he was never as good at talking to John and comforting him as he wanted to be.

“I wasn’t joking John,” Bruce said.

“You… you really want that?” John asked, sounding as though he still doubted Bruce. “For… for me to make you a… a doll of me?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “That is, as long as you don’t mind.”

To Bruce’s delight John’s smile quickly returned.

“I don’t mind at all buddy,” he said, launching himself at Bruce and wrapping his arms tightly around him. “Just you wait. I’m going to make you the best doll in the whole world!”

* * *

A couple of weeks later, John had not one, but two dolls waiting for Bruce. He had refused to show or tell Bruce anything about the progress of his creation (or creations as it turned out) until they were finished, so Bruce was surprised when he walked into the room and discovered the two dolls propped up on John’s bedside table, right in front of the two photos of John and Bruce.

“Ta da!” John said, presenting the dolls with a flourish.

“They’re all done,” John announced. “What do you think?”

Bruce approached the dolls slowly. One of them appeared to be John wearing the green shirt and purple vest he had worn during some of the time Bruce had been embedded in the pact. The other was of John as the Joker, with dark paint over the top part of its face, and the same dark jacket and pointed hair that John had adopted as part of his vigilante outfit.

“I didn’t know which one you would prefer, so I made both,” John explained.

Bruce hesitated over them. They were both beautifully made, with just as much care and attention as John had put into the doll of Bruce. He wasn’t sure that he could bring himself to hold the Joker one though. That costume alone was enough to bring back too many painful memories; the explosion on top of the GCPD building, John losing it in Ace Chemicals, covered in blood and completely deranged, the two of them fighting while Bruce tried to ignore the fact that his heart was slowly breaking more and more with every blow.

Bruce swallowed, trying to force back the flood of painful memories, and picked up the doll wearing bright green and purple, holding it to his chest with a smile.

“I have lots of good memories with this one. That other one,” he said, nodding to the Joker doll on the bedside table. “Not so much.”

Perhaps he should have realized earlier that John would take a rejection of either of the dolls a little too personally. As soon as Bruce had finished speaking, John stormed over to the bedside table and grabbed the Joker doll.

“Damn it! I should have known you would think that one was stupid!” he screamed, his fingers digging into the doll’s soft padding before throwing it across the room.

Bruce immediately tried to backtrack.

“No John,” he said. “No, it’s not stupid, and I can tell that you worked really hard on both of them. It’s just…”

“It’s just what!?” John screamed, more emotional than Bruce had seen him in a very long time.

“I just really love this one,” Bruce said, gently holding up the John doll.

“Are you sure?” John asked. “I think the other one is probably better put together. He’s more memorable too.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bruce said. “I’d never be able to forget this little guy.”

“His buttons don’t match,” John pointed out.

Bruce checked the doll. Indeed, the buttons did not match, in the exact same way that the buttons on John’s original vest hadn’t matched.

“No,” Bruce said. “They don’t, but I love that about this one too.”

He wasn’t sure that they were actually talking about dolls anymore, or buttons for that matter.

“I think I want this one in my life,” Bruce said, running a hand over the doll’s bright green hair.

“He’d stay with you,” John replied. “For as long as you’d have him.”

“Forever then,” Bruce said.

“Forever,” John replied, sounding as though he was getting a little choked up.

He walked over to where the Joker doll was laying on the ground, its limbs having flopped over in a way that looked decidedly painful, even though it was just a doll. He picked it up, dusted it off with one of his hands and adjusted the setting of its little coat.

“You could have them both you know,” John said. “I made them for you after all. And I mean just the doll this time. If it creeps you out that much you could… I don’t know, use it for target practice or something.”

As though Bruce would ever want to do that. It had been hard enough taking John down at Ace Chemicals when Bruce had known there was no other choice. Bruce wasn’t sure he could bring himself to throw batarangs at the Joker doll, even just in fun.

“I’ll keep it downstairs,” Bruce said.

He hoped that John knew that by ‘downstairs’ he meant the Batcave. It wasn’t as though he could say it outright; not with the orderly listening at the door.

It still bothered Bruce that he had never been given the chance to show John the Batcave. He was sure that John would have loved it. Perhaps one day he would get the chance. Until then the Joker doll could sit down there along with the jokerang and John’s grapple gun; one more reminder that Bruce somehow managed to let down everyone that he cared about, and that no matter what, he could not allow anyone to fall so deeply into darkness as John had ever again.

* * *

“God damn it,” Bruce cursed as a spot of batter slipped over the side of the bowl. “Alfred always made this look so easy, you know?”

He had been trying to make pancakes, thinking that putting a little extra effort into making breakfast would make him feel better than simply grabbing a bagel or croissant on the way to work. Pancakes were proving a little more complicated to make than he had anticipated though. The batter didn’t look or smell right, and he just knew that he wasn’t going to be able to make them anywhere near as perfect as the ones that Alfred used to make.

“Do you think I need to stir the mixture more?”

The doll on the bench in front of him said nothing. It wasn’t as though Bruce expected it to. Thankfully it never said anything to him, but that hadn’t stopped Bruce from talking to it every so often.

When Bruce had asked John to make him a doll, he hadn’t even had any idea as to what he might actually do with it. The Joker doll ended up living in the Batcave as intended, but without planning to do it, he found himself dragging the John doll around the house with him at the oddest of times.

It probably wasn’t healthy; just one more sign that he was starting to lose it a little, but just seeing the doll and sometimes holding it brought him far more comfort than he would have thought. A talented psychiatrist would probably say something about a lost childhood, or perhaps would be able to pick up on how desperately lonely he was feeling these days.

“The recipe says to mix until just combined, but if you want things to come out light and fluffy then you need to mix them more, right?”

The doll still didn’t have anything useful to add. Bruce didn’t mind. After all, the kitchen, including the bench that the doll was sitting on, was a total mess, but the doll was kind enough not to comment on that. The one and only time Bruce had invited Iman Avesta over she had suggested that he hire a maid, but doing so felt too much like betraying Alfred. Part of him still hoped that Alfred would return any day now; that one day Bruce would come home to find him hard at work in the kitchen.

For now though he was stuck making his own pancakes and talking to a stuffed replica of his closest friend.

“Do you even know how to cook?” he asked the doll as he gave the pancake batter another quick stir, meaning of course, John, and not the doll in front of him. “You know how to sew. You’re probably just as bad at housekeeping as I am though.”

Bruce still held out hope that one day John’s mental health would be good enough that he would be able to live with Bruce in Wayne Manor. Perhaps it was foolish to hope for such things, but he couldn’t help it.

Bruce fetched one of the frying pans from the cupboard, placing it down on the stove before turning to speak to the doll once more.

“Remind me to ask you whether or not you can cook next time I see you,” he said.

In the end the pancakes were too flat, and burned quickly, leaving Bruce with sad little discs that were far more rubbery and bitter than he had hoped, but which he ate drowned in maple syrup nevertheless.

Thankfully the doll still didn’t have anything to say.

* * *

Bruce let out a sharp cry of pain as he fell out of the Batmobile. One of his hands clutched at his side, trying to stem the flow of blood from the deep gash in his lower torso. If Alfred had still been there then he would have already been right by Bruce and helping him to his feet.

As it was Bruce couldn’t find the strength to move. He collapsed to the ground, still clutching at his side. He didn’t think that the wound itself was fatal, but he had lost a lot of blood, and the gash wasn’t the only injury he had sustained that night.

He was just so tired, but he knew that he couldn’t rest. He needed to move; needed to get himself patched up. And then he would need to see to the batsuit; get it patched up where the knife had broken through the armor and then work out why the new sealant system had failed.

The floor was so cool though; so relaxing. It would have been so much easier to just lie there and let the world disappear around him.

God, the Batcave seemed so empty now. If only there had still been someone there with him; Alfred, or Tiffany or hell, he’d even take Selina in that moment; anyone that might help him over to the med-bay or even just banish the silence that had been lurking far too loudly on the end of his now mostly useless ear piece. He considered asking Avesta to work with him again. She had declined once, but maybe if he asked again…

He knew he had no right to ask her though. He wondered then if Alfred had been right; if he had just been hurtling towards self-destruction and loneliness from the very start; if his crusade as Batman would have ended like this no matter what he did; him all alone and bleeding on the floor of the Batcave.

It would be so easy to just close his eyes and let himself sleep. The smarter, more rational part of his brain knew what a terrible, potentially fatal idea that might prove, but it was so hard to listen to it right now.

He looked up through eyes that failed to focus properly on anything; his eyes eventually settling on his trophy collection. At this distance and with his eyes so unfocussed the various items on display appeared as little more than blobs, but he knew, even without seeing it properly, that the Joker doll was still there, along with the other mementos he had collected.

John was still waiting for him in Arkham. John wouldn’t want him to lay there.

“Get up Bruce.”

Bruce could almost imagine the other man’s worried voice.

“Come on,” John would say. “You have to get up.”

Bruce groaned, but managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees.

“Come on Bruce!”

“Come on,” Bruce echoed, his voice soft, but still strangely loud in the quiet of the cave. “You just need to make it over to the med bay.”

He pulled himself up off the floor, grabbing and then leaning on the Batmobile as he did. He stared over at the med bay, which had never seemed as far away as it did at that moment.

“Come on Bruce,” he imagined John saying. “Just put one foot in front of the other.”

Bruce leaned on the railing, and started to move. It was slow going, but at least he was up off the floor.

* * *

John had been smiling, but that faded almost as soon as Bruce stepped into his room at Arkham.

“Oh gosh Bruce,” John said, immediately jumping to his feet and rushing over to grab Bruce’s hands in his own. “Are you all right?”

“I look that bad huh?”

Bruce knew that he probably did. As it was he had opted out of going to Wayne Enterprises that day, choosing to visit John at the asylum instead. There would be too many questions at Wayne Enterprises. His injuries from the previous night on patrol were a little too obvious to be hidden, and he wasn’t sure how many times he could blame a ‘mugging’ or a ‘drunken accident’ before the higher ups at his company grew suspicious.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he told John.

Bruce could tell immediately that John wasn’t buying it. Bruce wished that he could tell John about everything that had happened, but he couldn’t say much, not with the orderly still listening outside.

“Don’t worry,” John said as he guided Bruce over to his bed. “I’ll look after you.”

It was an absolutely ridiculous notion. John was a patient in a mental asylum, and Bruce couldn’t stay for any longer than a few hours, but Bruce still found himself immediately relaxing into John’s arms.

John sat down on the bed and guided Bruce to lie down, until he was lying curled up with his head in John’s lap. John reached up to gently run his hand through Bruce’s hair and began to speak softly to him, telling him everything that he had been up to since Bruce had last seen him.

Bruce didn’t fall asleep, but it was a close thing. He hadn’t felt as relaxed as he did in that moment in months. The gentle caress of John’s fingers as they carded through Bruce’s hair, the warmth of the other man’s leg against his cheek and the kind, gentle tone of John’s voice made him feel so, so safe and loved. He knew that John was mentally unstable and a convicted murderer, and yet somehow that didn’t make any difference.

Bruce never wanted it to end, and when visiting hours ended that day and he was forced to leave John’s room, it was with a very heavy heart indeed.

* * *

Bruce had left the fundraiser early and alone. He hadn’t had it in him to invite anyone home with him since the whole Joker incident had happened, and that night had been no different, despite the handful of gorgeous women that had insisted on hanging off his arms during the couple of hours that Bruce had actually made an appearance.

It wasn’t just that the house was looking more and more like a mess with every day that passed without Alfred, although that certainly didn’t help. Bruce just couldn’t summon the energy to pretend that he was someone that he wasn’t anymore. The ‘Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy’ mask had started to feel stifling, and it exhausted Bruce just to maintain it for several hours of socializing these days, when previously he knew that he had been able to keep it on for almost an entire weekend without any problem.

He flopped into the nearest armchair, letting his head fall forward into his hands. It used to be that after an evening like this he would at least be able to vent to Alfred, but there was no-one waiting for him in Wayne Manor anymore.

He found himself glancing around the room, and it wasn’t until his search came up empty that he realized he had been looking for the doll that John had made for him. It wasn’t in the sitting room though. Bruce had a feeling that he had left it upstairs in his bedroom. Or perhaps it was in the kitchen?

Bruce was too tired to check. Instead he found himself reaching for his phone and staring at it for a few minutes. His lock screen was still the photo that he had taken during his first visit to see John at Arkham. John still had it on display on his bedside table as well.

Just the mere thought of seeing John again was enough in that moment to make Bruce feel as though someone had reached inside his chest and had started squeezing the life out of his heart. He wanted to see John. No, he _needed_ to see John.

He was already in his car and making his way towards Arkham Asylum before he had made the conscious decision to do so.

* * *

It was the middle of the night. Any sane person would have realized after only a few seconds of thought that no-one would be allowed in to see _any_ of the patients at that hour, but Bruce didn’t care.

“Please!” he begged a member of the asylum’s staff; a middle aged woman that Bruce was reasonably sure was a doctor, but one which he had never met before. “I just need to talk to him for a few minutes.”

“Is there some sort of emergency?” the doctor asked, frustratingly calm and sensible while Bruce felt as though he was falling apart.

“No,” Bruce tried to explain. “I just… I just need…”

He wasn’t sure that he could explain it in any way that would make sense, but hopefully he wouldn’t have to.

He reached into his pocket and, after rummaging around, he pulled out several hundred dollar bills which he offered to the doctor.

“Are you trying to bribe me?” she asked, and Bruce knew that he had fucked up. She sounded incredibly offended. On the one hand Bruce was glad to find out that not every employee at Arkham had the same lack of moral integrity as the guard that had let him in to see John on that first day. On the other, this whole exchange was becoming increasingly annoying and inconvenient.

“Not a bribe,” Bruce said, hastily backtracking. “An offer. If not for you then for Arkham as a whole. I’ve already helped fund massive improvements to the facility here. If you let me in I could authorize more; enough for larger gardens, or… or better equipment.”

“We here at Arkham are grateful for your continued support Mister Wayne,” the doctor said, and Bruce was glad to hear at least a little sympathy in her voice this time. “But this isn’t a matter of money.”

“Then what…?”

The doctor held up a hand, silencing Bruce before he could get any further.

“It’s about what’s right for our patients,” she said. “If you truly care for your friend John then you would see that. How is John, or, for that matter, any of our patients, supposed to recover if we allow every millionaire with a bleeding heart or a mentally ill friend to come and go at any hour that they please? There’s a reason that we have set visiting hours Mister Wayne, and that’s so our patients get the rest and the routine that they so desperately need.”

Bruce wished that he could argue with the doctor, but he couldn’t, not when she seemed to genuinely have the best interests of her patients at heart.

“You understand?” she asked him. She sounded so calm and understanding that Bruce almost found himself wishing that she had been crueler. Perhaps then he would have been able to hate her for keeping him from seeing John.

“I understand,” he told her.

* * *

Bruce returned to his car. For a while he just sat in the front seat, trying to convince himself that he could wait until the next day and see John as soon as visiting hours began. John was on a different series of pills these days, and the side effects weren’t as bad. Bruce could stay with him for hours.

It wasn’t enough though. The emptiness in his heart wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he told himself he would see John soon. The thought of going back home, to the manor, was too much at that moment for him to bear.

He found himself glancing back at the asylum through the car’s window. He was so close to John at that moment, but somehow still felt so far away.

He made up his mind. He couldn’t bring himself to go home. Not until he had seen John.

But Bruce Wayne wasn’t allowed inside Arkham in the middle of the night.

He started the car up, and drove it until he found an empty cul-de-sac where he could get changed without anyone noticing.

* * *

John couldn’t sleep. He didn’t know what it was, but he had been laying on his back staring up at the ceiling for what felt like hours now. When left to himself he stayed up until it was so late that it was practically the next morning, and slept in well until midday. A routine like that didn’t work so well in Arkham though; where meals and pills and visiting hours all happened at precise hours that didn’t fit so well with John’s natural sleeping patterns.

He sighed and rolled over, clutching his doll of Bruce close to his chest and placing a gentle kiss on its forehead. He wondered when Bruce would come to visit him next. Usually he swung by for a visit every few days, and he had just visited John the day before, so it probably wasn’t going to be for another day or two, but then again, he _had_ been visiting more often lately, and he’d been staying longer.

John hoped that Bruce would stay as long as he was allowed to this time. John loved it when Bruce did that. They would play cards or borrow board games or puzzles from the rec room. Leland and the other doctors encouraged him spending time with Bruce these days too. They could see how happy it made John every time Bruce paid a visit; knew that it was the thought of being with Bruce in the outside world again that made John want to get better, that kept him taking his pills and trying his hardest to keep his darker, more violent impulses tucked away deep inside of him.

John thought he saw a flash of something outside his window, and got to his feet. At first he thought it was nothing, but then he saw it again, and this time he got a much better view. A silhouette settled on the roof opposite John’s window, right where he and John would have the best view of one another.

John immediately smiled, suddenly glad that he hadn’t been able to sleep. He chuckled, unable to keep his joy hidden inside of himself, and waved at Batman in a wide, enthusiastic gesture that Batman couldn’t possibly miss. Batman lifted up one hand, giving John a much more subtle wave in return.

Batman didn’t come any closer, choosing to remain on the roof across from John in silence. No words passed between them, only gestures, but that didn’t matter.

* * *

The trip to see John as Batman didn’t stop Bruce from showing up at Arkham as soon as visiting hours began the next day.

John was practically radiating with joy when Bruce saw him. Sure, John was always happy to see him when he visited, but he seemed even happier on that day.

“Bruce!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Bruce in a tight hug as soon as Bruce stepped into the room.

For a moment Bruce was too stunned to do anything about it, but then he wrapped his arms around John as well, holding him close and breathing in the smell of him. John smelled like home, and happiness, and everything that was good in Bruce’s life, and he never wanted to let go of him again.

“Did you get any sleep at all last night?” John asked when they pulled apart.

Bruce knew what John was getting at. Bruce had stayed on the rooftop for at least an hour, and when he had left it had been the bat-signal that had pulled him away. Thankfully the case Gordon had needed help with had been a reasonably simple affair; a gang war that Gordon had been powerless to stop unless he could obtain a warrant to search a particular building on the docks; a warrant that would take far too long to acquire legally and which Batman luckily didn’t need at all. Helping to clean up the criminals at the docks meant however that Bruce hadn’t been able to get any sleep at all before heading to Arkham.

“Not really,” he confessed. “There was the fundraiser, and then, well, with one thing and another…”

John immediately looked worried. He led Bruce over to his bed, and while Bruce had to concede that sleep seemed incredibly tempting at that moment, he didn’t want to waste the hours he was allowed to spend with John sleeping.

John insisted however, and soon enough Bruce found himself laying down on top of John’s bed, suit and dress shoes included. John surprised Bruce by climbing up onto the bed with him, curling up so that they faced each other with bare inches between them.

“What are we doing?” Bruce asked.

“I don’t know,” John confessed. “Napping? We can just talk until you fall asleep if you want. I don’t mind.”

That sounded perfect to Bruce, and so he started to talk. They talked about nothing and everything; about the fundraiser and Bruce’s attempts to cook and how Victor Zsasz still hated John, and the new exercise Doctor Leland had given John to do when he was feeling insecure.

They drifted closer together as they talked, until eventually Bruce fell asleep with John’s forehead pressed against his own, and both of his arms wrapped tightly around John’s torso.

* * *

“Come on, it’s time to wake up.”

Bruce wasn’t sure who the voice belonged to, but he knew that he hated it. He had felt so warm and comfortable and safe, and he just knew that voice was going to tear all of it away from him.

“Come on you two,” the voice continued. “Visiting hours are over. Mister Wayne, you’re going to have to leave.”

Bruce groaned and tried to bury his face in the crook of John’s neck, willing the rest of the world to disappear as he did.

It was a gentle caress from John that had him finally stirring.

“Come on Bruce,” John whispered into his ear. “I know you were tired, but you have to wake up now.”

Bruce sighed in protest, but then John’s limbs were untangling from his own, leaving the bed feeling far too cold and empty.

“You can visit me again tomorrow,” John suggested. “I mean, you’ve probably got important things to do so maybe you can’t, but you know, if you want to, I’ll be here. I don’t even mind if you spend most of your visit sleeping again.”

“It’s Sunday tomorrow right?” Bruce double checked as he straightened his tie.  

“Yeah,” John replied.

Perhaps seeing John two days in a row should have been a sign that their relationship was becoming unhealthily codependent, but Bruce couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Then I can see you tomorrow,” Bruce said.

John beamed at him again, and Bruce was seized by the desire to kiss him farewell.

The desire to kiss John was not a particularly new one, but Bruce wasn’t sure whether the idea had seemed so easy or so sensible before that moment. He could do it, he realized. Just cross the short distance between himself and John and press his lips to John’s own.

He did not kiss John though.

He did however keep his word and come to visit him again the very next day.

* * *

The days and weeks continued to pass. The manor still felt empty, and Bruce was still exhausted, but slowly, bit by bit, he grew better at taking care of himself. The manor would never be as clean as it had been when Alfred had been working there, but Bruce tried not to let it turn into a total pigsty, and he was getting better at cooking and had learned how to patch up his own clothes.

Eventually Bruce felt confident enough in his own cooking skills to bring a batch of freshly baked cookies as a gift for John when he next visited him. They weren’t amazing by any means, and certainly weren’t as good as the ones that Alfred used to make, but they were peanut butter and chocolate chip, which John had said was his favorite flavor, and they hadn’t come out burned or too powdery or too chewy, unlike some of Bruce’s other attempts.

Still Bruce found himself feeling incredibly nervous when John opened the small cardboard box Bruce had brought with him and saw what was inside.

“You made these yourself?” John asked, his eyes going wide as he pulled out one of the cookies.

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “I checked with Doctor Leland and she said she didn’t have any problem with me bringing them in for you, as long as you don’t share them with any of the other inmates.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” John said, clutching the small box closer to his chest. “I’m not sharing these with anybody. They’re too special.”

“You haven’t even tried them yet,” Bruce said. “They might be awful.”

He had tried a couple himself, and knew that they weren’t _awful_ , but that didn’t mean that John was definitely going to like them.

John raised an eyebrow at Bruce. He placed the box of cookies down on his bedside table and brought one up to his lips, before devouring over half of the cookie in one bite. His chewing slowed, his expression turning thoughtful as he savored the cookie, before he eventually swallowed and turned to face Bruce with a very serious expression on his face.

Bruce wasn’t exactly sure what John’s reaction meant. He was fairly sure that John had liked the cookies. He _had_ liked them, right?

“You know,” John began slowly, contemplating the half-eaten cookie in his hand as he did. “Sometimes when I was watching TV one of the characters would mention how things always tasted so much better if you added a little love when cooking, or if they were made by someone you love. I used to think it wasn’t true you know, that they were exaggerating or something, but these…”

He paused to shove the rest of the cookie in his mouth, swiftly devouring it and then licking his fingers clean, keeping Bruce’s gaze as he did so.

“These are one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten,” he said, before letting his gaze drop to the floor. “There must be a lot of love in them.”

Bruce had been wondering which one of them would finally start this conversation. It had been hanging in the air between the two of them ever since Ace Chemicals. There had been a lot about what had happened that still felt like a dream to Bruce, and John’s confession that all he had ever really wanted was for Bruce to love him was right at the center of it. Bruce still wasn’t entirely sure that it had really happened, and if it had, whether John meant ‘love’ in a purely platonic fashion, or as something more. He had almost asked John several times during his visits, but he had always found some reason to keep his questions to himself.

It was in that moment that Bruce decided it was time for him to stop shying away from the truth.

“There is,” Bruce said. It wasn’t a confession of love, not exactly, but it was close. He hoped that John understood what he meant. “I mean, I made them for you after all.”

John gasped. His eyes caught Bruce’s own for a moment, before flickering backwards and forwards over Bruce’s face as though searching for something; perhaps some sign as to whether or not Bruce had meant what he had said or whether this was just another cruel attempt to manipulate him.

“Do you really mean that?” John eventually asked.

Bruce took a deep breath before continuing.

“I do,” he said. “John I…”

Previously he had always fallen back on ‘I care’ or other things that were just as easy to deny or dismiss, and perhaps it would have been easier to say something similar now, but Bruce couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had told himself that he was going to tell John the truth. He couldn’t back down from that now.

“I love you John,” he said. “I’ve loved you for a long time now. I know you probably won’t believe me when I say this, but I fell in love with you during my time undercover in the pact. I know you think a lot of it was lies, but all of that time we spent together; in the Stacked Deck or drinking coffee together or when I taught you…”

He had been about to say ‘when I taught you how to throw a batarang’ but he caught himself just in time.

“All of it,” he settled for. “I meant all of it. I know you said that you wanted me to love you John, and I did. Oh god John, I loved you so much. Through all of that; all that we went through together; I was falling more and more in love with you.”

Now that Bruce had started to tell the truth he couldn’t stop. It just came pouring out of him. Through it all John stood there, staring at Bruce, his eyes slowly welling up with tears until Bruce was finally finished and John could finally say something in response.

“Then why didn’t you tell me!” he shouted.

“I don’t know,” Bruce replied. “I’m just… I’m not…”

He wasn’t very good at expressing his emotions. He knew that. Even now he couldn’t help but feel as though he was making a mess of it, upsetting John when he had been hoping to bring him joy.

A sharp knock at the door to John’s room startled Bruce, and, from the look of it, John as well. Bruce had almost forgotten that they were in Arkham, with the orderly outside able to listen in.

“Mister Wayne,” the orderly called out. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step outside the room. We can’t have you upsetting the inmates like this.”

“No!” John called out. “It’s… it’s fine. Please. I’m calm. I’m really calm. Just a few more minutes with him. Please?” 

“All right,” the orderly replied, sounding as though he was too tired to object any further. “Just a few more minutes. It’s gonna be time for Doe’s session with Doctor Leland soon anyway.”

It wasn’t the first time that Bruce’s visit to John had been cut short by a therapy session, and usually he was fine to step aside and let John receive whatever help he needed, but he couldn’t leave things as they were at that moment. He couldn’t leave John without knowing for sure that the two of them were going to be okay.

“John, I’m sorry,” Bruce said. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was apologizing for. He just knew that he had made John cry, so clearly he’d done something wrong.

“It’s all right,” John said, even though his voice was breaking and he was speaking through tears. “I know. I know you… You just…”

John shook his head and wiped some of the tears from his face.

“I love you too Bruce,” he said, before throwing his arms around Bruce’s shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug.

“God, you’re such an idiot!” John exclaimed. “But I still love you. I don’t think I know how to stop loving you.”

Bruce returned John’s hug, clinging to him just as tightly as John did to him, burying his face in John’s shoulder so that the tears that had started to flow freely down his own face fell onto the skin of John’s neck and the plain cotton of his regulation Arkham attire.

“I know what you mean,” Bruce said.

John started to pull back. Bruce let him, even though he was sure that he would have been content if he had just been allowed to hold onto John forever.

John looked up into Bruce’s eyes for a moment, and then they darted down to Bruce’s mouth and then back up to his eyes, and then they were both moving closer. Bruce knew exactly what was going to happen, and part of him thought that their first kiss should have been a bigger deal than this, but it just seemed so right to kiss John then.

Or was John kissing him?

Bruce wasn’t sure that it mattered any more. All that mattered was that their lips were pressed together, and John was letting out the most amazing whimper and clinging to Bruce as though he might fall over if his fingers weren’t digging into Bruce’s arms and keeping them both grounded.

“I love you John,” Bruce whispered as they parted, just because he was allowed to say it now.

“I love you too,” John said.

There were still tears on both of their faces, and their lives would force them to part again at any second, but none of it seemed to matter at that moment. All that mattered was that they had each other.

* * *

Weeks passed, and then months. The doctors assured Bruce that John was making progress. He took their word for it. All that he knew was that John was still as happy as ever to see him when he came to visit. Sometimes John would even greet him with a kiss.

Eventually John and Bruce were allowed to take short walks together around the asylum gardens. There were strict rules about where they were and weren’t allowed to go however, and at least one of the asylum’s guards was always close by.

A few weeks into this arrangement a member of the paparazzi managed to take several photos of the two of them walking the grounds. In a couple of them they were holding hands, and in one Bruce had been kissing John goodbye.

The next time Bruce visited John he discovered that his boyfriend had already seen the story.

“What are you going to do about it Bruce?” John asked.

“I don’t know,” Bruce confessed. “The press obviously needs to be discouraged from taking photos on the asylum grounds, for the privacy of the other inmates, if nothing else.”

“Well obviously,” John said, rolling his eyes as he sometimes did when he thought Bruce was being particularly dense. “But I meant what are you going to do about your reputation? Everyone’s going to know that you and I are well…”

He looked upset, and it was with some shock that Bruce realized why.

“I don’t care about that,” Bruce said, grabbing one of John’s hands and holding it tightly in his own. “I love you John, and I don’t care who knows it. Unless, well… unless _you_ want me to keep it a secret.”

“Are you kidding Bruce!?” John exclaimed, looking more than a little gleeful. “I want to shout it from the rooftops. But er… You don’t mind everyone knowing that you’re… well… whatever we are with a... well, with me?”

“Of course not,” Bruce said. “People are going to gossip about me and my relationships no matter what I do. It might be nice to have some of the gossip about love and settling down actually be true.”

Bruce brought John’s hand up to his face and pressed a kiss to the back of it as he finished speaking, which earned him a wide smile and a quiet chuckle from the man he loved.

* * *

Over the next couple of days, whenever a member of the press asked Bruce to comment on the photos of himself with John in the asylum gardens, he told them the truth.

“John Doe is the love of my life,” he said, more than once over those few days, “and while I don’t mind you guys taking photos of me, I do think that taking photos on asylum grounds shows very, very poor taste.”

* * *

Months passed and then years. Shorter walks into the garden turned into longer ones, until one day Bruce found himself standing outside of Arkham Asylum holding a large bouquet of purple and white flowers and trying to calm down his racing heart.

He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. Excitement would have probably been more appropriate, but after everything that had happened, and all the time that he had spent waiting, Bruce was irrationally afraid that something was going to happen that would see his happiness with John snatched away from him again.

And then John stepped through the front door of the asylum, wearing the pants, shirt and vest that Bruce had bought for him and looking like a million dollars, and Bruce fell in love with him all over again. John looked up, caught Bruce’s eye, and immediately smiled at him.

“Bruce!” he yelled excitedly.

John paid almost no attention to the flowers in Bruce’s arms, instead running over and wrapping his arms around Bruce’s neck and shoulders. He kissed Bruce then; a long, slow kiss that Bruce was more than happy to return. Eventually John pulled back and turned his attention to the bouquet.

“These are for me?” he asked.

“Of course,” Bruce replied, delighting in the way John’s eyes went wide as he took in the full extent of the bouquet.

The florist had explained that it was an arrangement that was usually only chosen for weddings, but Bruce hadn’t cared. It had seemed perfect for John, and it had been worth it just to see the surprised delight on John’s face.

John took the sight of the bouquet in for several more seconds, before pouncing on Bruce again and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

Bruce passed the bouquet to John in exchange for the small bag John had been carrying that held all of his possessions; mostly gifts from Bruce and other mementos, including the half dozen photographs that had sat on his bedside table by the end of his stay in Arkham, and the doll of Bruce, which he had refused to give up, even now that he was coming to live with the man himself.

John didn’t have all of his freedom back just yet. He was still required to attend regular therapy sessions with Doctor Leland twice a week, and he was forbidden to leave Gotham, but their current situation was definitely an improvement over him being locked up in Arkham.

* * *

Somehow Bruce had managed to forget that John had never actually seen Wayne Manor. These days it felt strange to try and remember what life had been like before he had met John.

The other man ran from room to room, exclaiming excitedly at everything he found. Eventually Bruce would show John to the bedroom that Bruce had set up for him, although honestly Bruce had a feeling that John would spend more time sleeping in Bruce’s room than his own, and then later he would show him down to the Batcave, but for now he let him dash between paintings and antiques and other random pieces of Bruce’s life, asking whatever questions he wanted, all of which Bruce answered as honestly as he could.

Bruce lost track of John for a while, only to find him inspecting a postcard Bruce had placed on the mantelpiece of the main sitting room. The photo on the front showed Alfred enjoying a cup of coffee in Paris. Alfred had been silent for a few weeks following his resignation, but after that he had sent Bruce regular updates. It had taken a while for the feeling of betrayal that Alfred’s resignation had caused to leave Bruce, but these days he found himself feeling genuinely happy for Alfred. Heavens knew he had put his surrogate father through enough over the few years preceding Alfred’s retirement.

John ran one finger gently over the photograph, and Bruce found himself sighing happily. Seeing John standing in the middle of Wayne Manor seemed right somehow, as though he was meant to be there, going through Bruce’s things and brightening up the manor just by existing in it.

“Do you think he’d be all right with me living here?” John asked Bruce.

“I’m not sure,” Bruce replied, gently taking the postcard from John and placing it back up on the mantelpiece. “I told him that you were coming to live with me in my last letter to him, so I suppose the two of us will find out soon. I _can_ tell you that he’s happy I’ve finally let someone else into my life, although he does think you’re bad for me, and honestly I think he wishes that I had settled down with Selina instead of with you.”

That prompted a brief chuckle from John.

“You know, I was super jealous of her when we first met,” John said.

“Really?” Bruce asked, laying on the sarcasm as heavily as he could. “I couldn’t tell.”

“Hey!” John objected, playfully shoving Bruce and cackling as he did.

Bruce expected John’s actions to devolve into a full-on play fight, but something caught John’s eye before either of them could go any further and he went completely still. Bruce followed the direction of John’s gaze to discover that it was the doll of John himself that had caught his attention.

It was sitting on a table on the other side of the room, where Bruce had left it the previous evening. Bruce cursed beneath his breath at his own forgetfulness.

“Damn it,” Bruce said, rushing over to pick up the doll. “I’m sorry John.”

Bruce knew he had not taken as good care of the doll as he probably should have. It was covered in stains; some from flour or sauce while it had watched over Bruce during his attempts to cook, a splash of red wine when Bruce had commiserated with the doll after an evening of frankly painful socializing with Gotham’s elite, and at least one blood stain that the doll had gained when Bruce had clung to it after a particularly painful injury he had sustained as Batman. Bruce had done his best to clean the doll, but he hadn’t wanted to scrub it too hard and risk damaging it.

Bruce knew that John’s doll of Bruce however, had been lovingly washed and repaired half a dozen times. Whenever a seam started to come loose or a patch of fabric begin to wear, John had fixed it up with careful stitches and an attention to detail that still blew Bruce’s mind. A year ago John had even adjusted the doll’s suit to match one of Bruce’s new ones.

“Wow,” John said as he approached Bruce. He reached out, not taking the doll from Bruce’s hands, but letting his fingers rest on the doll’s now slightly lopsided head. Bruce watched him anxiously, afraid that he might have already done something to upset John and hating himself for it. He had wanted everything about that day to be perfect, and yet somehow he might have sabotaged himself before he had even gone to pick John up from the asylum.

John looked into Bruce’s eyes then, and after a moment he smiled, which immediately relieved Bruce.

“You like it that much huh?” John asked.

“I guess you could say that,” Bruce said.

“He’s been through a lot with you, hasn’t he?” John asked, pressing a couple of his fingers to a bloodstain on one of the doll’s arms.

“He has,” Bruce admitted.

“Did he…” John began, before swallowing nervously. “Did he help?”

“More than you could ever know,” Bruce replied.

John smiled and then the two of them moved closer to one another, almost perfectly in sync, to share the first of what would hopefully be many, many kisses in the home that they now shared.

When they pulled apart they were both grinning like idiots.

“Wow,” John breathed, and Bruce didn’t know what part of it all had prompted such a reaction from John. It all seemed so perfect to him. “You know, I could make you another doll if you really want.”

Bruce smiled.

“Thanks,” he said, as he placed the doll gently down on the nearest chair, before taking John’s hand in his own. “But I’m not sure I need it now that I’ve got the real thing here with me.”

John smiled up at him, and Bruce was strongly tempted to kiss him again. There was something else that he needed to do though; something that he needed to say before he chickened out of it.

“John, now that you’re here, I wanted to ask you something,” he began, still clutching John’s hand in his own. He wondered if he would feel this nervous when he inevitably asked John to marry him.

“Of course,” John said. “Look buddy, the answer is already yes, no matter what the question is.”

Bruce shook his head and smiled over at John.

“I need you to think about it seriously, all right?” Bruce asked. “And if you don’t want to do it, or if you think you’d have problems doing it, then I need you to tell me no. Got it?”

John nodded slowly, and Bruce could tell that he was taking the whole thing a lot more seriously now.

“I want you to be a part of my life John,” Bruce began. “Not just as Bruce Wayne, but as Batman as well. I think we both know that you working as my partner in the field didn’t go as well as either of us might have hoped, but I was hoping you could still help me out. I used to have Alfred and Lucius Fox, but for the past couple of years I’ve been doing it by myself and it’s been exhausting and I could…”

He paused to take a deep breath and gather his thoughts.

“Well, I could really use some help,” he said. “Someone to stay here in the manor and help guide me in the field, like Alfred used to do. Someone to patch me up when I’m injured and to be there when the job gets too tough for me to handle by myself. I won’t pretend that it’s easy. There’s a reason that Alfred left. I might be putting your life in danger as well.”

“Woah, woah,” John said, reaching over to press a finger to Bruce’s lips, silencing him immediately. “Stop right there Brucie. If you think you weren’t putting me in danger when you announced to all of Gotham that you loved me then we should probably both go straight back to Arkham and book ourselves in for a nice long stay.”

He removed his finger from Bruce’s lips, and sent one of the most heartfelt, beautiful smiles Bruce had ever seen up at him.

“I don’t care about danger,” John continued. “I’d go through hell if that’s what it took to stay here, living with you. And if you think for one second, Bruce Wayne, that I would be able to just stand back and watch you do your whole Batman thing without helping you or patching up your injuries then well… that thing I said about throwing you into Arkham applies again I guess.”

Bruce was speechless. He had no idea what he was supposed to say in response to such a beautiful declaration, and so he said nothing at all.

Instead he pulled John in for another kiss, one that had their hearts pounding and saw them both gasping for air when they both resurfaced.

“Thank you,” Bruce whispered once he had recovered enough of his breath.

“Pfft,” John scoffed, rolling his eyes at Bruce. “I should really be thanking you, you know? I’m living in a mansion now, with the love of my life, who’s a billionaire and a hero and the most amazing person ever, and I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t have any of it if it wasn’t for you. Anyone else would have given up on me, but you didn’t.”

“Of course not,” Bruce said. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” John said, before planting another, shorter kiss on Bruce’s lips. He pulled back from Bruce then, taking one of Bruce’s hands in his own as he did.

“So what are you waiting for?” John asked. “Are you going to show me where you keep all your Bat-stuff or what?”

Bruce chuckled at that, and started to lead John towards the entrance to the Batcave while John chatted happily at his side.

He knew that there would still be challenges. Having John at home to help him recover wouldn’t stop him from getting injured in the first place, and Bruce had a feeling that the manor was probably going to get more messy rather than less now that John was living there with him, but for the first time in a long time, he was feeling optimistic.

The manor was already beginning to feel less empty.


End file.
